


Warmth

by Saetha



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Background Sam/Steve - Freeform, Bucky gets a bath, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hot Chocolate and Snuggies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peggy's Grave, and ridiculous names which he returns in kind, not civil war compliant, this starts off so angst but turns so fluffy lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: Steve finally finds Bucky at the grave of Peggy Carter. Bucky has felt cold since Azzano, but with Sam's and Steve's help he might just finally rediscover the meaning of the word 'warmth' again.





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> 'I'm just gonna write a super quick, super short Stucky drabble' they said. Almost 5k and two days later there was only screaming. I enjoy writing my children a lot, so I hope you'll enjoy reading this :). 
> 
> Note: I know Peggy's funeral service was in London but I'm not actually sure where here grave is - it would make sense for it to be in the US imo since that's where her family is so I think they might have taken the coffin and brought it back to the US. Also makes the logistics of the fic easier lmao. Also, this isn't Civil War compliant.

It takes a while for Bucky to find out where she's buried. Half of it is luck in the end; he stumbles upon the obituary in the archives of the New York Times whilst searching for something else, remnants of the past that he cannot dredge up from those corners of his brain that Hydra has destroyed.

 _Margaret Elizabeth "Peggy" Carter_ , he reads. _Gone peacefully in her sleep_. A familiar twang threads through his chest, one that he has come to recognise as a signal that something should hurt more than his memories tell him. He runs his fingers over the two faded pictures, one showing her in her middle years in the headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D., and an old one where she stands at Captain America's side. The obituary is full of her achievements and yet it seems that people still remember he most for being 'the one with Captain America'. Seems unfair to Bucky.

He manages to find a print version of the article that he can take, cuts out the obituary and carefully places it in his notebook. It is as convoluted and scrambled as his mind itself, full of scraps and notes and little sketches, a desperate attempt to piece together the man he has once been and unite it with the man he is now. When his memories return, it's often in spades, triggered by the most miniscule things - a flash of silver and blue in a shop window suddenly has him seeing Steve Rogers, hearing his confident laugh as it echoes through a war camp and making everyone look at him like he could save the world with the power of his smile alone. The clink of something metallic on a trash can has him gasping for breath as images of Hydra and Zola's lab flash through his mind; the sound of a car door slamming reminds him of someone he killed when he was the Winter Soldier, blood spattering over a windshield; a dry cough from someone on the bench next to his brings him back to times when he desperately tried to keep Steve warm lest he catch something that he wouldn't recover from this winter.

Peggy's grave, on the other hand, doesn't make his mind scream. He sits in front of it, perfectly still as the icy wind of winter blows around him. When he closes his eyes he feels like he's back in the past again, a cold winter during the war. They'd had a fire burning then, with the Howling Commandos seated around it and their stories becoming more and more ridiculous as time went on. Steve has somehow gotten himself in a wrestling match with Dum Dum whilst the others cheer them on. Peggy plops down next to Bucky, not saying anything until she offers him a sip from her flask.

The whiskey is strong and surprisingly good, burning reassuringly in the back of his throat. He wonders if Peggy has stolen it from Howard's personal stash.  

"He's a sight to behold, isn't he," Peggy finally says as she's nodding in Steve's direction, after the flask has been passed back and forth several times.

Bucky grunts something unintelligible in response. Of course Steve is, looking almost unreal in the way the muscles shift under his shirt. A phantom, one that doesn't need Bucky anymore now that he has emerged from his shadow.

"Such a difference to how he used to look," Carter continues and Bucky still doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to talk to her about this, especially when the memory of-pre-serum Steve has become something precious to him that he guards almost jealously.

"His spirit was exactly the same though, even back then," Carter says wistfully and Bucky perks up slightly. He had expected another tirade about how perfect 'Captain America' was, how the serum had finally made a 'real' man out of him - all the drivel that he's heard back in the camps and that has led to more than one fistfight for him. "Did he ever tell you how he threw himself on top of a grenade to keep it from going off?"

"He- _what_?" No, Steve has never told him. And Bucky knows only all too well why. Steve has never enjoyed Bucky's tirades of how he has to take care of himself when he was small and constantly ill and now he does even less.

"Yeah." Carter takes another sip from her flask. On the other side of the fire Steve and Dum Dum are rolling around on the ground now. "It was a fake one, of course, but he was the only one from the unit who dove right over and threw himself on top of it. That's when I knew that he was...someone to look out for. I don't think the serum changed any of that."

"Yeah, still too reckless for his own good. Shouldn't be left alone for any length of time," Bucky replies dryly. He is surprised when he hears a little laugh from Carter. He turns to look at her, truly _look_ at her for the first time and is taken aback by what he sees although he should have known before. The glint in her eyes is so familiar to him that it could be his own. When she looks at Steve she sees the same thing he does - a good man, with a stubborn and reckless mind, a tilted little smile and hair the colour of barley in the summer heat like he's only seen it here in Europe.

A man so easy to fall in love with.

"Then we should make sure that we won't, no?" Carter passes the flask back to him and there is an ease in his movements when Bucky takes it from her hands. "Between the two of us, I'm sure we can protect him from himself."

In the end, neither of them had been able to save him. Bucky shudders when the last warm embrace of the memory fades.

He pulls out a flask from underneath his jacket, takes a swig and, after a second thought, another, then pours out a little of the whiskey on the grave, planting the half-empty bottle next to the flowers covering the frozen earth.

Bucky knows he should leave, but something is keeping him here, like an string attached to the man who once was Bucky Barnes. A ghost who is held here by the weight of the invisible chains around his wrists. Snow begins to fall in soft waves, muffling the world around him. Despite the biting cold it seems almost comforting, the way it blankets everything in white. Like a curtain between him and the rest of the world. Maybe, if he doesn't move, he'll turn into the silence around him, become one with the winter.

"Bucky."

The voice seems part of the landscape at first, his name spoken with the same softness of the snow covering the ground. Bucky scolds himself mentally; he should have heard him approaching, should have seen him, should have-

"Buck." Steve repeats the word with the with the exact same tone again, although there is so much insecurity and hope mingled with it that it almost seems too much for a single name to bear.

Bucky looks up, movement slow with his neck stiffened from the cold. Steve stands a few meters away, hand in his pockets, still wearing the same damn leather jacket he's seen on him numerous times on TV. With his super soldier body he probably doesn’t even feel the cold. Maybe the reason that Bucky can is because the cold is already in his bones, has never left since the moment that Arnim Zola'd had him dragged out of his cell.

"Steve." He realises he's never actually said his name out loud. The way his lips and tongue form around it is achingly familiar and yet so foreign he wants to turn around and throw up. Bucky still doesn't know what to say, so he makes a vague gesture encompassing the graveyard and Peggy and himself and an entire world that has somehow slipped away from him.

"You come to say goodbye too?" he asks, because he can't think of anything better. There is pain in Steve's face as he looks at the gravestone, the pain of a wound that has just begun to scab over, not even heal.

"I already have." Steve hunkers down and reaches out to clean the grave, tuck out a few wilted flowers, shaking the snow off of others. A smile ghosts across his face when he sees the flask, not touching it as if he knows that this is a private thing between Peggy and Bucky. "I came to see if there was someone I could say hello to instead."

There is a shadow hovering somewhere behind Steve, just in the periphery of Bucky's vision. He recognises the shape, dimly remembers ripping a wing off the man and winces slightly.

"Hello." The joke is stupid but it's worth it for the way Steve's lips draw into a tiny smile.

"Hey," Steve replies softly before stepping closer. A few snowflakes melt on his fingers as he stretches out his hand towards Bucky. "You look like you're about to freeze solid. Want to come home with us?"

 _Home_. Another word with such a strange ring to it. He doesn't know what it means to him - not the place where he lives now, run-down and small that it is, nor the ice of Siberia where had Hydra had kept him. And not Brooklyn either - the Brooklyn he knows is a thing of the past now, just as the two boys who'd grown up there.

He looks out into the white and grey landscape again and back at Peggy's grave. Imagines her standing next to Steve and the other man, that light smile of hers on her lips, giving him a little nod. She'd want him to go - this is Steve after all. The man too reckless to be left alone for long, the man for whom one set of eyes isn't enough to watch him.

"Yeah." Bucky grasps Steve's wrist with his normal hand and lets himself be pulled upright. He can still feel the tension in the other man's body, as if he expects him to attack Steve at any moment. Bucky wishes he knew what to say to make him seem less tense. He bends down to retrieve his duffel bag with the few belongings he has and stumbles a little, his legs burning from sitting down so long in the cold. Steve's warm hand is at the small of his back, steadying him and Bucky wonders when the last time had been that someone had touched him out of the pure desire to help. He almost flinches back.

"Sam," Steve addresses the man next to him. "Can you go get the car right to the entrance?"

"No problem." Sam's eyes linger on Bucky a moment longer before he disappears into the still falling snow, soon swallowed up by the greyness that seems to lie over New York like a blanket.

"I can walk those few steps," Bucky murmurs indignantly as he massages his legs with his right hand. "No need to coddle me."

"I remember you saying the same thing seventy years ago," Steve counters, but he takes his hand away as soon as it's clear that Bucky can stand out of his own might. "Only to fall over on your face a few minutes later. You aren't injured or anything?"

"No." Bucky shakes his head. He glances at Steve, sees him frowning and adds: "Really."

Steve sighs and shrugs a little, apparently still unsure whether he believes him. It's so strange to have him next to Bucky again; his shape and presence are achingly familiar, but there is also an insecurity and strangeness between them that has grown in all the decades and deaths that lie between them. He wonder what he should say next, but all the phrases sound strangely hollow in his mind. _How are you? I'm sorry I tried to kill you. I'm sorry I murdered dozens of people, I don't do that anymore now you know. Who's the man with you? What's it like being an avenger? Do you still secretly enjoy your coffee with way too much sugar when you can get it?_

Steve is equally silent as they walk, although several times he opens his mouth as if on the edge of saying something. They're almost at the gates when he finally speaks.

"You sure you want to come with us? You have to tell me if-" His hand makes a few strange motions but he leaves the rest of the words unsaid. Bucky can hear them nonetheless.

 _Tell me if your mind is your own again_. This had, surprisingly been one of the hardest things to learn after Insight crashed and he emerged dripping wet from the Potomac, Steve's collar in his hands: the fact that he has a will. The fact that he can say no. The fact that there are things that he can do simply because he likes the way they feel, like the taste of plums and chocolate on his tongue or the sun on his face as he lies down on the grass. Bucky still isn't quite sure whether he has learnt all of these things fully yet, but at least he knows his words are his own when he replies to Steve's question.

"Yeah. I want to." _I want_. It feels good on his tongue. "Do you have hot chocolate?"

A surprised laugh tumbles from Steve's lips at the question and it fills Bucky with warmth - he knows this laugh, has loved it in that past life of his. When Steve laughs it sounds like the entire world just got a little lighter.

"Yeah, we do. Sam can't get out of the house in the morning without it," Steve tells him and maybe that's how it's going to be between them from now - pretending that everything is normal until it actually is or they crash spectacularly. There are worse ways of dealing with things, Bucky supposes. The same moment that he wants to ask about Sam the car arrives in front of the gate and Steve unceremoniously opens the door, so that Bucky can get into the backseat.

The ride back to wherever it is that Sam and Steve are staying is quiet at the start, a light tension in the air as nobody really knows what to say. Bucky keeps staring outside with at least half an eye, his mind storing away the way they are going for later, a habit so deeply ingrained into him that it would be useless to try and give it up. Always know where your exits are, always know how to get out. He feels guilt that he can't shut off this part of his brain even when he has decided to do something of his own free will.

"So you knew Agent Carter then?" Sam finally asks, clearly just to break the silence.

"Yeah." Somehow, the words are slow now as they are dragging themselves from Bucky's throat. "Did a few missions together. Drank a lot. She was..." He shrugs, searching for the words. Upholding his end of a serious conversation is something he hasn't had to do in decades and it's hard to string so many words together. "...a friend. A good friend."

Steve and Sam exchange glances, but Bucky can't read what's in them. He keeps holding on to the facts in his head, the ones he knows are true.

"She loved Steve." _Just like I did_. "Wanted to keep him safe. To stubborn for his own good. He needs someone to watch-" He realises he's rambling and that his words probably don't make any sense to the other two, so he shuts his mouth, looking out of the window, embarrassed.

"Well, I'm glad nothing seems to have changed over the years," Sam says dryly. "He's still too stubborn, by the way. Good thing I'm covering his ass when he isn't looking."

"Stop talking about me like I'm some kind of fragile egg," Steve grumbles and Sam laughs, loud and easy. It's a good sound and Bucky feels like he wants to smile as well. "I can take care of myself, I'm not small and sickly anymore."

"You always say that." Bucky says and this is an easy one, the phrase is so familiar that he really has heard Steve say it dozens of times. It's good to know that he can be sure of something in his memories. "Sam's right."

"Ha!" Sam slaps the steering wheel in front of him slightly and Bucky winces, remembering a different hand on another steering wheel right in front of Sam. "See, even Mr. brainwashed former assassin agrees. So it's gotta be right."

"Please tell me this isn't gonna be a running theme from now on." Steve shakes his head. "If you two gang up on me at every opportunity..."

"'s not ganging up," Bucky says, slightly mulishly. "It's taking care. Of you."

Steve sighs in exasperation, but that doesn't stop Sam from snorting with laughter.

"You know, Steve, of all the things I thought we'd talk about first thing once we'd found Bucky, I never thought it would be about your incessant urge to get yourself hurt or do reckless stuff just for the fun of it."

"Well, the first thing he actually asked for was hot chocolate," Steve says. Bucky nods. Hot chocolate is good.

"Hot chocolate, hu?" They're at an intersection so Sam turns quickly and winks at Bucky. "Good taste, very good taste. I like you more and more, emo hair man."

Bucky knows that all of Sam's nicknames should annoy him, but they don't. There is a normality about him, an acceptance of reality more so than Steve's slightly desperate, slightly hopefully 'Bucky' holds, like de-thawed world war two soldiers falling into Sam's life is something he's simply gotten used to.

The talk about other things on the way back, minor and important stuff that shows how easy and familiar Sam and Steve are with each other. Bucky says little but lets himself sink into the comfortable closeness between the two, enjoying the warmth that comes from it and that, for once, he is with people who do not thinking of using him at the first opportunity.

As promised, the first thing that Sam does when they come back home is to put two large mugs filled with milk in the microwave until they are warm before scoping copious amounts of hot chocolate powder in it.

"Swiss," he says as he holds up the powder. "The real good stuff."

Buck can confirm that once he's tasted it. He cradles his mug in his hands, warmth flooding through his fingertips.

"So. Uhm." Steve scratches his head as he makes himself a cup of coffee. With lots of sugar, as Bucky notices with a bemused little smile. "We have a guest bed in the other room. You okay with sleeping there, Buck?"

"Sure." Bucky shrugs slightly. Whatever they have is probably far better than what he's had until now. And warmer, too.

"You still look cold." Steve frowns slightly, coming over as if to touch him but stopping his movement at the last possible second. Bucky shrugs again. He's grown so used to being cold that he doesn't really know what it's like to be fully warm anymore. He's just sort of accepted that he'll never find out.

"I am. A little." He says belatedly when it becomes clear that Steve expects an answer.

"We could run a bath for you," Sam suggests, raising his eyebrows. "You smell like you might need one anyway. And your clothes very definitely need a wash too."

"Ass," Bucky mutters quietly and Sam looks surprised for a second before he blurts out with laughter. He laughs easily, smiles more easily still. Bucky wonders what it's like to be so generous with mirth as he is.

"No, I think it'd be good for you," Steve agrees with Sam and once again this feels like something familiar between them too. "Only if you want, of course. We won't force you to do anything you don't want. You have to tell us."

Bucky thinks about this for a while, sipping his hot chocolate to cover up how nervous he still is. He's done a quick check as he came in, looking for exits, possible points where they could be attacked, security. He feels safe enough for now, but to strip out of his clothes, become so vulnerable when attackers might be around the corner...he shivers again.

"Is it...safe?" He asks, for lack of a better word. Steve and Sam exchange another gaze. It takes a moment before they understand what he's trying to say.

"Our apartment is off the grid, or how much we can make it so. And we have security systems. And, well, us," Steve tells him. "We can stand watch, if you want. Make sure nobody will surprise us."

Bucky cocks his head slightly and thinks again. He hates how slowly the words are coming to him, remembers a time when he always seemed to know what to say.

"Okay," he finally says, adding after a thought:"Thank you."

"I'll start pouring the water then. You okay with peppermint bath?" Sam gets up and walk towards one of the doors leading away from the living room slash kitchen that they are in right now.

"You can _bathe_ in peppermint?" Bucky's aware that he's gaping at Sam and closes his mouth. He feels stupid all of a sudden, but there's that smile crinkling around Sam's eyes again and suddenly it doesn't seem to be so awkward.

"Oh yeah. Trust me, you're gonna love it." Sam winks at him and hums slightly as he goes into the bathroom. The sound of running water comes out just a moment later.

"Sam's right, that peppermint bath salt he has is amazing," Steve sighs and stretches, relaxing a little. "I have no idea how much they let you know about the world around you when you- well, when you weren't asleep, but there are quite a few nice things now."

"Hot chocolate." Bucky is still cradling the mug and nods. "Snuggies."

" _Snuggies_?" Steve coughs and Bucky realised he is trying to disguise a laugh. "How on earth...? No, don't, I'm not even sure I want to know." But there's mirth glinting in his eyes and so Bucky can't help but smile back. No need to tell Steve that he once found one behind a trash container, a little dirty and wet, but still usable. He likes that he can still use his hands when he's wrapped in one. Makes it easier to stay alarmed, ready to fight.

"Snuggies are _fucking great_ man!" Sam yells from the bathroom. "I'm beginning to think we're long-lost relatives or something, your ghost from the past and I."

"You two are getting on like a house on fire." Steve shakes his head. "Never would've thought."

"Birdman has good taste," Bucky nods, schooling his face to be extra serious. There is a snort from the bathroom and Sam quickly appears in the door to give Bucky a thumbs-up before disappearing again. The smell of peppermint begins to waft out of the bath and Bucky has to admit that it really does appear endearing.

"Is that going to be a game between you two now?" Steve asks, looking like he's both younger and has aged about ten years since he's found Bucky. "Making up increasingly ridiculous nicknames for each other until you run out of ideas?"

"Maybe?" And because Bucky is feeling slightly reckless now he adds: "Popsicle man."

Steve stares at him like he just grew wings and flew away, but then hides his face in his hands.

"I'm not sure I missed smartass Bucky all that much, actually," he says, his voice muffled between his fingers. But of course he's smiling. "Between you and Sam I'll lose my mind in a day."

"Well, you never had much to begin with," Bucky says dryly and yes, this also feels right, that banter between them. He distinctly remembers Steve planting his elbow between his ribs more than once.

"If you two are done insulting each other," Sam walks out of the bathroom door, drying his hands with a towel, "then you can come get your bath, Bucky. It's all set up and ready now. Towels are the blue ones on the right, feel free to use all the shampoo and body wash you need."

Bucky looks at Steve, then at Sam, feeling the familiar tension thrum through his body as he checks security one last time. They both notice his gaze and Steve makes a grab for his shield whereas Sam walks towards the door.

"I'll be keeping watch outside," Sam says and Steve nods.

"I'll stand here, in front of the door. You shout if you need anything, okay?"

Bucky feels slightly silly at their exaggerated care but he can't deny that it does make him feel much safer. As he steps into the bathroom, closes the door and starts taking off his clothes he has to admit that Sam was right - they smell. Terribly. He hates imposing on his hosts, but maybe they do have a change of clothing somewhere that he could use. Until he can go buy his own anyway.

He stares at the bathtub with the strangely bluegreen tinted water for a moment before he extends his hand to test. He almost gasps when his fingers hit the surface - it's hot, but exactly the right kind of hot, the kind that doesn't sear off your skin but immediately floods through you instead. He takes a deep breath and steps into the tub, closing his eyes briefly before lowering himself into the blessedly hot, blessedly clean water. And yes, Sam was right, the peppermint is _great_.

"I take it from your obscene noises that you're really enjoying yourself in there," Sam yells from outside, even though the window is closed. Bucky can hear Steve admonishing Sam from the other side of the door, in a long-suffering tone that means Sam's always running his mouth like this.

"It's great." Bucky yells back and then closes his eyes again. He realises that this is the first time he's raised his voice. As a second first since before Azzano he truly, genuinely feels warm, a warmth that extends all the way to his bones. For a while he does nothing but enjoy the incredible sensation of being afloat in a field of warmth without a time limit, without the need to move. His left arm will be fine; Hydra made it waterproof long ago. Can't have their most-feared assassin fail a mission because it's raining a little.

After a while he begins to wash himself - hair first and then the rest of his body, although he has to stand up for that with a regretful sigh. The water at his feet has turned a much uglier colour when he's done, so he doesn't feel too bad about getting out. The tub is draining when Bucky towels himself dry, once again marvelling at the fact that he still feels warm, even after leaving the hot water behind.

Half an hour later finds him curled up on the sofa in Sam and Steve's living room, one of Sam's oversized sweatshirts and Steve's pants on and holding yet another mug of hot chocolate close to his chest. Some nature documentary is running on the TV, Sam is cooking in the kitchen and he feels comfortable and like, if he wanted to, he wouldn't have to do a single thing for the rest of the week. It's strange and a little daunting and amazing all at once, but above all it's one thing: warm.

Warm and good.


End file.
